


in a trap of your own making

by Hymn



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Vaginal Sex, breath play, corset!sex, difficulty breathing, mean pirates, sorta lol, unhappy people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-09
Updated: 2007-04-09
Packaged: 2019-03-31 22:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13985037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: Elizabeth once more loses in a fight with her corset, and Jack takes advantage.





	in a trap of your own making

**Author's Note:**

> springkink prompt

“There's a trick to those,” Jack said wryly, stepping back and making a show of circling her warily, when really what he was doing was getting a view from all angles. Elizabeth knew exactly how nicely her breasts heaved in the corset she was trapped in. With a flourish that caught the sunlight across his silver blade, Jack added, “It’s called not breathing.”

With a harsh, panting cry, Elizabeth lashed out, her movements heavy, unbalanced. Her face was flushed, her hair sticking to her, and the look in her eyes would have been ferocious if she didn’t look so dizzy. But that man, even after everything, was positively _infuriating_. He destroyed all reason.

She wheezed out, “Shut. Up.” before she had to bend over, gasping.

The corset squeezed her waist even tinier than it was usually. It was worse than the one she’d worn on that day she first met Jack, all black satin and russet lace, a gift from Tia Dalma; the perfect bait, matched to her gold hair and pale complexion. She looked beautiful in it, even with the long folds of her skirt dripping and tattered and covered with sand.

“Oh, come now,” Jack purred. “First conversation we have since you left me to be a treat for the Beastie, and you don’t even want to talk? I’m hurt.”

“You will be,” Elizabeth gasped out. “When I’m- Oh, god. When I’m through with- with-“ she started coughing. Every time Jack went to say something, she’d start up again, only half because she couldn’t help it, until Jack was finally tired of it and sheathed his sword, walked up to her, and slapped her on the back, hard. It _hurt_.

“Jack!”

“There, there, it’s all right. I’ll forgive your frigid welcome if you promise to give me a kiss.” He smiled into her face, leering. “After all, a kiss good bye, a kiss hello. Maybe we could make a trend of it!”

All Elizabeth could do was glare, struggling and bull headed even just on the edge of asphyxiation. But death hadn’t caused Jack to stop being a pirate, and Elizabeth, perhaps, was pirate enough to understand this. He kissed her, and stole the rest of her breath; the weak hold she had on her sword slackened, and it fell to the beach.

When Jack pulled back, Elizabeth moaned, writhing slightly. Chuckling, Jack murmured into her ear, one hand tracing over the tight laces that framed the soft skin of her back, “It was a poor plan, love. You should have known better.”

“What can I say, Jack,” Elizabeth hissed, struggling for just enough breath. “It reminded me of your gallant rescue, long, long ago.”

Jack’s smile curved over his face like smoke and shadows in the moonlight. “You were supposed to cut the laces, weren’t you, lass?” Silence. She refused to admit it. “You couldn’t quite reach. Tougher trek to the End of the World than you thought, eh?”

Not quite true, but true enough. She continued glaring, struggling to breathe, and aching. She felt hot all over, tight and wet and wrong. “I hate you.”

“I know you do,” Jack returned, his hands tightening, one in her hair, the other at her waist. Elizabeth gasped, and glared, and saw something dark and twisted slide across Jack’s bronze face, his kohl-lined eyes. “But, methinks, not near so much as I be hating you.”

Will would hate her for this, too, Elizabeth knew, and it broke what ever was left of her heart. But that was another thing, something to be set aside, left behind; that had no place on this empty, too-still beach, with Jack hard and angry against her. This had always been coming, something she wanted, needed; something she deserved, and that Jack deserved, and that had no right to occur.

She reached up, latched her hands onto his shirt, anyway, and fed at his mouth.

It was like drowning, a sweet-sour rush that she dove straight into. His tongue was wicked and lewd, and made her cry out, shake, and mewl. She didn’t know when he brought them to their knees, or opened his pants. Didn’t know when he’d palmed her breast out of her barely there corset, just knew that his fingers were amazing, and that she’d die if he didn’t do that finger-flicker thing again. His mouth traced her neck, and the corset limited her breathing, her movements; her vision was sparking.

Jack dragged her up over his spread lap, dragged her skirts up and out, and reached down, under, felt that she wasn’t wearing bloomers or anything of the sort, was hot and slick and ready for him. She clung, gasping, unable to do any more than tremble and want. “Now this,” he huffed against her temple. “This is a welcome.”

He slid in, one long, smooth thrust, and Elizabeth cried out, but was cut short. The corset wouldn’t let her get enough air, and Jack moved his hips, twisted and rolled like the untamable sea, and sent her wits scattering. His fingers pinched her nipple, his mouth left bruises on her neck, and the sun beat down hot on her back where her skin showed through the dark criss cross laces of the corset.

It was everything she’d been denying herself, everything that she’d dreamed about; the worst and most wonderful feeling of all.


End file.
